


For Want of Good Soil

by baggvinshield



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Epistolary, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Separation, Shipper Trash Balin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baggvinshield/pseuds/baggvinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Dwarves know nothing about growing things, but Hobbits do. Bilbo returns to Bag End after the great battle, believing it was the right thing to do at the time, but he misses the Dwarves (especially a certain Dwarf) badly enough to want to try to help them grow something in the desolation outside the mountain - even if Bilbo has to lend aid from halfway across the world to accomplish it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of Good Soil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killaidanturner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killaidanturner/gifts).



>   
> Alaina (filiandkiliheirsofdurin) prompted this fic, but of course I kind of went sideways from the prompt when I got into writing it. Thanks again, Alaina!! <3  
> This was extremely fun to write, and I do hope it's enjoyable.
> 
> I used the following two websites for help picking out flowers. [Here](http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/publications/flowers/flowers.html) and [here](http://www.aboutflowers.com/flower-a-plant-information-and-photos/meanings-of-flowers.html). They offered some contradictory information, and in the end I picked what seemed best to me, so if something seems totally off just roll with it.

* * *

 

 

 

Bilbo is disappointed, if he’s to be honest with himself, to find that, on the whole, the Shire has changed very little in his absence. Aside from the fact that he left in the spring and returned the following summer (missing an entire growing season), there is nothing to indicate he had even been gone at all. (Nothing, of course, outside of the fact that most of his belongings had been auctioned off, forcing him to actually pay for his own things in some cases in order to retrieve them.) The same gossip mills are still in place, the same farmers and merchants selling the same goods at the market, the same relatives are inviting him to tea or this cousin’s coming-of-age or that cousin’s wedding.

Bilbo finds no reason to accept any invitations these days, though he has to note that even that is not much of a change. He wasn’t the most sociable of Hobbits before he’d run off with thirteen Dwarves and one meddling wizard of ill-repute, and he returned no more willing to socialize much with anyone in Hobbiton than he had been since his parents’ deaths.

The first months alone in Bag End are hard. Once his smial is cleaned and cleared of debris, and everything put back in order as though it had never been taken, there is little for Bilbo to do but consider another place, far off on the other side of the world, that needs more tending to than his little home ever did.

And he thinks of Thorin, of course, but that’s not surprising, even to him. Thorin is a subject he thinks on as soon as he wakes up in the morning, and the last thoughts before he falls asleep are of Thorin as well; but during the day at least, while the sun is shining and he’s meant to be living a respectable life, Bilbo cuts himself off from such wonderings. He figures he’s sparing himself, if accomplishing nothing else.

To say that he fled the mountain after what Balin’s letters tell him they’re now calling the Battle of Five Armies would be a bit dramatic. What Bilbo did was what Thorin had encouraged him to do - return to his home, where Bilbo, according to his own words, belonged. And Bilbo could find no good reason not to, though he could find many compelling reasons to stay. So what he did rather than flee was beat a strategic retreat. His feelings for Thorin be damned, Bilbo knew better than to read too much into deathbed confessions of affection. And in truth, Thorin had confessed nothing in actual words, only implied a great many things; implications are always up for interpretation, so Bilbo made sure he was not interpreting only that which he was personally invested in seeing.

So he left the mountain. He bid his friends farewell, wished them luck, pressed his hand to Thorin’s where it lay warm on his shoulder for a moment, and left. He allowed himself only one look back over his shoulder, and waited until he was well past Dale to do it. The mountain’s peak shone brightly in the morning light, and for a moment Bilbo almost thought he could make out the familiar silhouette of a tall dwarf standing slightly hunched to one side up on the outer wall. But of course, Bilbo’s eyes are not that keen. He chalked it up to wishful thinking.

 

***

 

His first winter back in Bag End is cold, and he swears there are drafts in the house that he never felt before. His fireplaces don’t seem to throw off as much heat as they used to, and all his preserves had to be purchased rather than put up by his own hands, so that even his strawberry jam seems to lack something in the way of sweetness.

Bilbo sits down at his writing desk many times during the long dark hours of the cold months. He intends to write letters, of course, but seldom does, and only then to Balin or Bofur. He intends also to begin writing his book, but whenever he sits down and thinks about the unwelcome guests that had barged in on him that night, he becomes so restless he can’t sit still long enough to set pen to paper.

He thinks of the merry laughter of his friends, how it had filled his quiet home to bursting. The Company’s presence here, though brief, seems to have enlarged the place, and now that Bilbo is alone in Bag End once more he feels the hollow spaces, empty rooms, unused furniture more keenly than he ever had.

 

***

 

Spring breaks in the Shire, green-up begins, and Bilbo smokes his first pipe in his garden in months. He feels rejuvenated by the springtime, as he always has, and thinks for the first time in a long time that perhaps he did make the right choice in leaving Erebor after all. In the loneliness of winter, shut up in his smial without even the chirp of birds to keep him company, it had been easy to experience deep regret over his choice, to second-guess himself and simultaneously feel that there was no going back.

But now, Bilbo looks around him at the returning life and thinks that he was right in the first; that he does belong here. A Hobbit of the Shire ought to stay right where they are, and it doesn’t escape Bilbo’s reasoning to recognize that he wouldn’t have felt bad about coming back if he’d never left in the first place.

 

***

 

A letter arrives the last week of March; it’s from Erebor, Bilbo can tell by the weight of the paper, and by now he recognizes Balin’s hand.

Bilbo sits at his dining table with a cup of tea before him, nibbling the last of the sweetbread he’d baked the night before, and unfolds the letter to read it.

 

 _From Balin, son of Fundin_   
_To Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton, the Shire_   
_February 27_

_Dear Bilbo,_

_Hullo to you from East of the Misty Mountains! I and all your friends here hope this letter finds you well, and not too cold in this long winter. You mentioned it was colder in the Shire than usual, and Gloin of course remarked that the heating system in Erebor is far superior to your little fireplaces and chimneys. It was hard work, and many hands, but the mountain is returned to life again - and with it, all the trappings you’d expect, including heat! So I must remark that though outside of our home, it is bitter cold and often snowing, we are all warm and content behind the mountain’s walls._

_Ori wants me to tell you that he is nearly finished editing his journals of the Quest, as you had apparently expressed interest in seeing copy of them. I’ll leave it to the two of you to work that agreement out. And I would remind you that despite our great esteem for you, Bilbo, Khuzdul is still a secret language, and one that we are forbidden to teach to “outsiders.”_

_Though if you wanted to learn it so badly, I have a thought that the King would make an exception to our long-standing tradition. Especially if your lessons were to be taught over a visit to Erebor._

_But enough of that. I should also let you know that Fili is fully healed and no longer walks with a limp! He is lucky, and his youth certainly contributed to his speedy and complete recovery, though I would be remiss to not mention Oin’s exceptional skills and all the effort he put forth to make sure the young Heir Apparent would walk again. He even went so far as to accept further aid from the Elves, so credit is certainly due where it’s due. Kili still hardly leaves his side, though I’m sure you’re not in the least surprised to read that._

_Bofur also sends you his well wishes, and says he will write again soon._

_My brother would wish you well, too, and I also have it on good authority that he agrees with me and the others in the matter of your open and standing invitation to visit Erebor as soon as you’re able and willing. I do believe the great oaf became quite fond of you over the course of our time together, not the least reason for which being the exceptional number of times you managed to save our King. Thank you for that, again, by the way._

_And on that note, and before I close this letter, I would ask again: Have you written to him? I don’t mean to pry, but it’s not my understanding that you parted badly. You are friends, Bilbo. You are perhaps one of the only true friends he has. I don’t mean to pressure you, and my pen has run away with me a bit, but I’ll not scrap this whole piece of parchment for the sake of saying truthful things that perhaps are none of my business. Nevertheless. He does ask about you. He knows you write to me and some of the others. Perhaps you’d consider sending him a note, if you are not too busy._

_I wanted to ask also - as spring is nearing, will you be working much in your garden? I’d be very curious to know more about it, and for any information or advice you might be willing to spare to some stone-headed Dwarrow who have no skill for tending soil. The desolation and the battlefield are still quite barren, so much so that even to those of our race who care nothing for growing things, it has become a bit of an eyesore. Much appreciated in advance, if you have the time, of course._

_I must be off now to an appointment, but again I wish you well, Bilbo, and remind you that your friends hope to see you again, Mahal willing!_

_Durin be with you, (as I’m sure he’d have liked you very much himself, and appreciates all you’ve done for his heirs)_   
_Your friend,_   
_Balin_

  


Bilbo smiles and rolls his eyes slightly in turns as he reads, and can’t stop the grimace that twists his face when he reads Thorin’s name in Balin’s sprawling hand-writing. He finds he’s lost his appetite for the bread he’d been eating, and sets both bread and letter down in favor of going for a walk.

 

***

 

Later in the evening, after supper’s been cooked and eaten and cleaned up after, Bilbo takes the letter up again with the intention of responding to it. His eyes travel over the words, and this time he doesn’t even flinch when he reads that Thorin asks about him. (He really ought to write, he knows, but though he’s tried to before the words don’t come. And Thorin is also capable of sending a letter, and Bilbo thinks it ought to be known that he isn’t the only one avoiding doing so.)

Bilbo pauses at Balin’s questions about gardening - to be more accurate, what Balin is asking about is replanting, but Bilbo gets his meaning all the same. He has an idea. He goes to his writing desk to grab a piece of paper and a pen, and writes:

 

 _To Balin, son of Fundin, of Erebor_   
_From Bilbo Baggins_

_On March 29th_

_Dear Balin,_

_If you block-headed Dwarves are wondering what you ought to be growing in your dry northern soil, I have a suggestion for you, though it may be a bit difficult to accomplish…_

 

***

 

Six weeks later, Bilbo is sitting out in his garden in the early evening of early summer, enjoying a pipe and the warm breeze, when what looks like an entire flock of black ravens appears overhead.

They are ravens, it turns out - and not just any old ravens, but a good many of the Ravens of Erebor, and they’re each carrying a small bag in their sharp, clever feet.

The set down around Bag End, and Bilbo suppresses the urge to groan aloud at the gossip _this_ will surely incite. Nearly thirty huge black birds taking up temporary residence on his property - not entirely respectable.

One of the birds, seemingly larger even than the rest, steps foreward and croaks something that must be a greeting. Bilbo sees a little piece of rolled up paper tied around its right leg, and cautiously removes it, keeping one eye on the bird’s beak while he does.

 

 _Bilbo,_  
_The soil samples, as you requested. It would have been too late for planting had we sent them by caravan, so there is only a little. I’m sure you can make something of it regardless.  
_ _-Balin_

  
And this is how Bilbo Baggins ends up with nearly 25 pounds of Ereborian soil piled in one of his large garden beds.

 

***

  
Bent over the garden bed, Bilbo sifts his fingers through the grey-brown earth. It doesn’t look dead, and is likely not without some redeeming qualities especially considering the great fires of the dragon. He feels the granules against his skin, soft and biting, and tries not to think too hard about how much easier this would be if he were actually in Erebor rather than here. No matter.

He works with great care, at first. He knows he has a limited amount of the soil, and that multiple plantings in the same spaces will begin to strip it of what nutrients it has. He adds nothing to the planting bed, which is not something he would normally do, but he doesn’t know what types of mulches or green manures the Dwarves might have available to them, if any, so he must try to see what will grow in the earth of Erebor without additions.

He tries a variety of small grains in just small areas of the bed, and it’s the buckwheat that sprouts first. Bilbo hoped it would, as it’s known for being hardy and is also a lovely flowering grain crop, one that could be harvested and used for food. It does well, though the spring wheat looks pale and the corn a bit pitiful. Bilbo makes notes in a little book, so that he can report to Balin, and moves on to more common garden vegetables - tomato, cabbage, lettuces, beans, and so forth.

The beans do well in a few weeks time, but the more difficult to cultivate foods don’t quite take off, and so Bilbo makes a note not to recommend them without amending the soil first.

He scratches his head a bit at his results - hadn’t Balin said they could get nothing to grow? So far he had had limited success, but had also put in minimal effort.

Dwarves really are useless in all things not pertaining to stones or fighting or bawdiness, or inert things that come out of the ground. Bilbo imagined they’d probably just thrown a few rose bushes around the base of the mountain, and then wondered why they didn’t plant themselves. He laughed at the image of Fili and Kili arguing over which of them had done it wrong, but had to take a deep breath when he thought of Thorin, how he would smile at his nephews’ antics, and scratch at his short beard in perplexion over the dead bushes.

 

***

 

Finally the weather is right and Bilbo is ready to move on to flowers and plants meant for their beauty alone. He thinks that if the Dwarves’ chief concern is for aesthetics (as it likely is, in this case, and Balin had certainly made it seem that way), then he wouldn’t be remiss in trying out a variety of grass seeds. He plants half a dozen different types, prettier ones, in one corner of the beds, saving the rest of the space for his beloved flowers.

Bilbo makes something of a game of it, assigning each type of flower he plants to one of his friends. Peonies for Oin, wisteria for Dwalin, begonia for Balin, yellow carnations for Bofur, daisies for Ori, sunflowers for Fili, primrose for Kili, and so on. He even tries transplanting some dandelions, thinking of Bifur as he does so. The memories of his former companions are bittersweet, and when he’s finished, Bilbo sits back on his heels and surveys his work. The flowers stand in a row, side by side; but they’re only flowers, and Bilbo has no one to turn to and say, “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He can’t quite think of a flower to plant for Thorin, and so saves it for another day, hoping that by the time he returns to this project, the empty ache in his chest will have sated itself and let him be.

 

***

 

Bilbo carefully waters the plants each day, taking note of exactly how much water he gives them. He knows that Dwarves have a knack and a liking for exactness when it comes to their crafts, and supposed that he can’t just simply say, “water them,” or it’s possible that either the whole valley outside Erebor’s gates will be flooded, or that each plant will be given just one drop at a time.

He notes that all the flowers are doing well. He would still like to plant something for Thorin, and he considers marigolds, nasturtium, ivy, lillies, even another acorn (he’d already planted the one from Beorn’s garden behind his hill) before giving up after actually considering for a good long while finding some hyacinth and setting it in the soil in Thorin’s name.

 

***

 

In June, Bilbo sits down to write to Balin of his progress, hoping that his success will prove to the Dwarves that there is nothing, in fact, wrong with their soil.

 

 _To Balin of Erebor_   
_From Bilbo Baggins_   
_June 9th_

_Greetings from Hobbiton! I have good news for the Dwarves of Erebor. Your soil is fine, though could certainly benefit from some fertilizer if you can get your hands on any. You need only place it where you plan to plant. What follows is an account of my experimentations with the soil samples you sent me…_

  


Bilbo goes on to write in detail about each and every plant he had grown, his planting methods, and so on. He signs his name with a bit of a flourish and a small smile, feeling that he’d left nothing out and that there ought to be no more confusion for them. In the morning, he’ll post the letter to be delivered to Bree, where, with any luck, a raven will take it within the week, and Balin will receive it within the month.

He traces the indentation in the paper where he’d written Erebor, and tries not to feel the loss of this. It’s been a connection to the Dwarves, and he finds himself deeply disappointed to realize that his days of being at their service are likely very truly over, now.

Bilbo considers for perhaps the thousandth time the invitation to visit them. But he knows how hard it was to leave the first time. Specifically, he knows with what great effort he had to tear himself from Thorin’s side, after being there for months and months. He doesn’t know if he could do it again, but more importantly, he doesn’t want to. Once wounded is quite enough, and he has no desire to reopen old scars and let them bleed freely again.

 

***

 

Bilbo waits for Balin’s answer, and the weeks pass slowly. The summer festival comes and goes. Bilbo attends, but feels more like a bystander than a participant. He has no interest in dancing, or conversing with his neighbors over trite and trivial matters. Even the taste of fresh raspberry wine is bitter and dry on his tongue.

While he waits, he continues to tend to his little Erebor flower garden. Fili’s sunflowers are near as tall as he is now, and the petals of Bofur’s carnations are bright and vibrant. Bilbo thinks again about what he might plant for Thorin, though the point is likely moot by now, as he has already sent word to Balin of his discoveries. Bilbo presses his fingers down into the cool, moist soil, and tries to remember the smells on the air in the mountains, the crispness of the mornings, the way dawn broke over the horizon and flooded down into the valley like spilled gold.

 

***

 

A few weeks later, Bilbo receives Balin’s reply, a letter tied to the leg of a great raven.

 

 _To Bilbo Baggins, Hobbiton, the Shire_   
_From Balin son of Fundin, Erebor_

_June 18th_

_Dear Bilbo,_

_With the help of the former-Laketown Men, we were able to trade for many of the plants you had listed in your planting guide. However, try as we might to follow your excellent instructions to the letter, everything that we’ve planted is now dead._  


Bilbo rises up from his seat as he reads this, squawking, “What?” in a manner much less dignified than he would like to admit. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and settles himself back down in his armchair, muttering under his breath about the folly of teaching Dwarves anything, much less from afar.  


_I’m sorry to have to report such news, and I do hope you won’t be too disappointed in us. We did try very hard, but it seems that Mahal did not make hands meant for delicate growing things. Work best left to Elves - and to Hobbits, of course. (The Elves, by the by, will not help us with such a task, so please do not suggest that we bother with that course. Thorin is often low in spirits as it is, without having to beg Thranduil for assistance with planting grass.)_

  
Bilbo swallows audibly at this mention of Thorin, and hopes, with trepidation, that Balin is not alluding to the return of the ailment that he experienced upon entering the mountain. He knows that Thorin would look upon such a thing happening as a fate worse than death, and he had expressed as much to Bilbo during his time spent healing. Bilbo realizes how very long it’s been since he last spoke to the Dwarf, over eighteen months, and he finds his breath quickening along with his heart at the thought. He really ought to write to him…  


_We did appreciate your “gifts” of flowers to each of us, especially considering you so graciously included their meanings, as we would not have known otherwise. I didn’t tell Thorin about it, however, as I noticed you had not selected a flower for him. It’s no matter, as he is rather hard to get a good reading on, if you catch my meaning._

_If you have time, might I impose upon you to continue with your experiments? We can get more dirt to you. If you can name any more plants that we might be able to grow in this wasteland, I would be much obliged._

_Sincerely, and with thanks,_

_Your friend,_   
_Balin  
_

_P.S. Thorin has mentioned again that you do not write to him. He asked if I would pass on his greetings, but also said that he would regret doing so if such greetings and well wishes weren’t welcome. Not knowing what to do with that, I have written you thus.  
_ _Do take care, Bilbo!_

  
Bilbo stares at the post-script in Balin’s letter for a long time, and then makes a decision. The Raven is still resting out in his garden. He goes to the bird with a crust of bread, and the raven is much obliged to take the food and gobble it down.

“Will you wait a moment or two?” Bilbo asks.

The raven croaks something unintelligible that, no doubt, a Dwarf would be able to understand perfectly, and Bilbo can only hope it had answered in the affirmative. He goes to his writing desk, snatches out a piece of parchment and a pen, and sits down abruptly. His hands are shaking.  


_To Thorin Son of Thrain, named Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, Erebor_  
_From Bilbo Baggins, Hobbiton, the Shire_  
_June 29th_

_Hello Thorin,_

_I’m sorry I have not written to you._

~~_I didn’t know_ ~~  
~~_I couldn’t decide_ ~~  
_I’m sorry. But you’ve not written me, either._

_And I’m sorry to say that evidently the soil outside Erebor is apparently of the lowest quality imaginable. Either that, or your subjects are nitwits that cannot follow simple instructions, as apparently even watering a plant is beyond their ken. I’m sure this matter is beneath what a king ought to be managing, so if you could, please pass word to Balin that I will need more soil from outside the mountain, and that this late in the season I won’t have much luck growing anything. Therefore further experimentation with Erebor’s soil will likely have to wait until next spring._

~~_Yours_~~  
_Sincerely,_  
_Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End_

 

Bilbo rushes back outside with his letter, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the raven is still perched on his garden gate. The bird takes the letter in his beak before Bilbo has a chance to tie it to his leg, squawks around his mouthful of parchment, and takes flight, heading East.

Bilbo stares after the raven for some time, his brow furrowed. He shakes himself from his thoughts, and goes to look at his Ereborian flower garden. Just as he knew would be the case, all the flowers look healthy. He simply cannot imagine what the Dwarves had done wrong.

 

***

 

Bilbo hopes for a speedy reply to his note, not the least reason for which being that he is beginning to think the only way to help the Dwarves will be to actually go to Erebor himself. He imagines what it would feel like to travel beyond the borders of the Shire again, to spend his days walking, sleeping under the stars, waking every morning to a new place. He would have only himself to keep him company, so it would be a very different journey from his first. Bilbo almost wishes that Gandalf would appear out of the blue, if only to travel with him as far as Rivendell perhaps.

At night, when Bilbo sits smoking a pipe and gazing into the fire in his living room, he hopes that someone else entirely will appear out of the blue - a person with dark hair, blue eyes, a kind smile, and, hopefully, an explanation as to why he was so quick to tell Bilbo to go home alone.

But these thoughts are irrelevant. If there ever was a chance in some other lifetime that Thorin Oakenshield might make a trip halfway across the world simply to visit (or to retrieve) Bilbo from the Shire, certainly it is folly to think that King Thorin might do the same.

 

***

 

Weeks pass, and there is no reply to his letter, though he reckons the raven ought to have delivered it by now. Bilbo imagines it sitting buried under a pile of important correspondences on Thorin’s desk, perhaps. Or maybe sitting still folded on a small table in the entryway to his quarters.

Bilbo knows that their friendship had been fast, and he begins to think it was born of circumstance and that, those circumstances now removed, it is left perhaps with little substance. It certainly doesn’t feel that way though. Not to him. Not when Bilbo allows himself to remember how it felt to be wrapped in Thorin’s arms, or the warmth of his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, or the light in Thorin’s eyes and smile when Bilbo had knelt next to him on the ice and held his belly together with shaking hands and told him, “The eagles are here.”

Bilbo squeezes his eyes shut tight against those memories, but he cannot hide them from his mind’s eye.

 

***

 

Another week passes, and July is wasting. Bibo sees that the petals of Ori’s daisies are falling, Dwalin’s wisteria begin to wilt, Bifur’s dandelions have long since gone to seed. The flower garden he had planted in the soil of Erebor is dying, and Bilbo knows it’s unlikely he’ll be able to plant in this soil again without mixing it with some from his other garden beds, amending it with mulch and manure, adding to it so that it might produce again, but diluting it in the process. Perhaps it ought to make him smile, to think of taking this earth from Thorin’s home and turning it in with some of his own, but the thought of this soil losing the properties that linked it to Erebor, and therefore to Thorin and the Dwarves, only makes Bilbo ache dully. 

He begins to think that the ache in his chest is born of an emptiness that used to be filled, that it’s the space left by a lack, and it’s not meant to be topped off with good soil and growing things. It needs something that will not wilt with time, something that will stay steadfast through the seasons; gentle calloused hands, deep warm laughter, a fond smile.

 

***

 

On the first of September, Bilbo wakes and sits up abruptly in his bed. He listens for the call of a raven in his garden, but hears nothing. He goes and looks out his windows into his garden, confirming that there is no black-feathered messenger waiting with a letter.

“Right then,” he says quietly.

He packs much more carefully than he had the first time he left Bag End, ensuring that he has enough food to at least get him to Bree, where he will buy a pony and more supplies. Bilbo figures that he will reach Rivendell before the winter, and can stay there until the worst of the cold season is over.

It seems there’s nothing for it. He’ll have to go back to Erebor, or he thinks, perhaps never feel at peace in his own garden again.

  


***

 

Bilbo crests a hill along the East Road, his little horse, Rose, walking behind him on a lead line, and Bilbo stops dead in his tracks at what he sees below him.

A caravan of four wagons pulled by strong horses, driven by people unmistakable as anyone but Dwarves, and flanked on all sides by more Dwarves riding ponies. And at their lead, seated atop a black and silver-maned pony, a very familiar Dwarf.

Thorin seems to spot Bilbo just as Bilbo realizes just who he is looking at, and he stops his pony and holds up a hand to those behind him, calling out an order as he does so. He looks beautiful, Bilbo realizes, his dark hair long and wavy, his beard longer than when last Bilbo saw him and braided in a single fine plait shot through with silver. Bilbo thinks in fact that he’s always looked beautiful, but never more so than he does now.

Thorin dismounts, staring at him with wide eyes, and Bilbo finds his feet again. He nearly runs towards the Dwarves, and Thorin moves forward as well, and it’s only moment before Bilbo is dropping his pack and lunging upward to wrap his arms around Thorin.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathes, and it’s the same wonderment Bilbo heard in his voice on Raven Hill as the Dwarf settles his arms around Bilbo’s back, squeezing. Tears sting Bilbo’s eyes, and he’s aware that the other Dwarves, Dwalin among them and loudest of all, are cheering and hooting and clapping.

Bilbo pulls back reluctantly from the embrace, and if his eyes are a bit wet, well, it’s alright really, because Thorin’s are too.

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo can’t help the smile that accompanies his words.

“I might ask you the same,” Thorin chuckles, and he looks so happy, Bilbo has to chase off a wave of regret that he’d ever parted from him in the first place.

“Balin said you had found Erebor’s soil lacking, and since there was a group of my people planning a journey to Ered Luin, I thought it would be best to send more with them.” Thorin gestures to the wagon behind him.

“An entire wagon-full?” Bilbo chokes out.

Thorin nods, smiling and tucking his chin a bit, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes. “Then I received your letter from the raven about a month ago, after we had passed through Rivendell, and we were already well on our way, so I-”

“Wait, a moment, stop,” Bilbo holds up his hand, shakes his head, “you mean to tell me that you were planning to bring more soil to me, personally, you, all along?”

Thorin looks at him with a hint of confusion. “Yes,” he says gravely, “I thought that perhaps what the ravens had delivered in the first place had been inadequate. I - I wanted to see you, and my sister and nephews are more than capable of maintaining order while I travel, so I planned to come. We had such success planting what you had recommended to us, I thought there must be something wrong with the soil you had sampled, and I wanted to make sure you saw for yourself that the ground in our land is good for planting… Bilbo?”

Bilbo is pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard. “You had success with the plants I recommended,” he repeats.

“Yes?”

“They didn’t all die.” Bilbo peaks around his fingers to look at Thorin.

Thorin shakes his head slowly. “No. I cannot tell you exactly which ones did exceedingly well versus which varieties struggled a bit, but-”

“When we get back to Erebor, I’m going to need you to lend me a sword,” Bilbo says, rubbing at his forehead, “as I’ve forgotten mine, and I’m going to kill Balin.”

Thorin startles a bit at that, but Dwalin barks out a laugh - which he quickly tries to turn into a coughing fit when Bilbo sends him a truly scathing look.

“I don’t understand,” Thorin says, shaking his head. “You thought all the plants had died outside the mountain, as yours did here?”

“None of my plants died!” Bilbo nearly shouts, then he groans aloud. Thorin sucks in a sharp breath, says, “Oh,” and fixes his gaze at the ground between them.

“So,” Thorin says, “this is why you left your home… to come help us with the plants? Because you believed… I see…”

Bilbo rolls his eyes at this. “Whatever the reason, Thorin, I’ve not gone running off again simply to help you lot grow some flowers.”

Thorin looks up suddenly at this, his eyes intent on Bilbo’s, searching his face as if looking for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet. Bilbo sighs, and reaches out a bit tentatively, taking Thorin’s hand in his with a wry smile. Thorin’s hand is dry and warm, and he visibly relaxes at the touch.

“We can discuss the details later,” Bilbo says, “for now, I’d like to know where, exactly, we’re going.”

“You’re coming with us, then?” The thinly veiled hope shining in Thorin’s face is enough to make Bilbo’s chest ache - but it’s an agreeable ache this time, one he welcomes, like the feeling of a wound healing. It’s a bit uncomfortable, yes, but ultimately good.

“Of course I am, confounded Dwarf. And after we get there, I’d very much like… well, to go home. To Erebor. With you.”

  
Thorin’s smile is wide and bright, and before Bilbo knows it’s coming he’s pulled again into a tight hug. Thorin laughs, his breath tickling in Bilbo’s hair, and although Thorin has yet to tell him how long they’ll be staying in Ered Luin, if they have any other destinations in mind, or when they will make the journey back to Erebor, Bilbo finds that he feels more at home in this moment than he has in what must be ages.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) Comments are always welcome!  
> I do have a small epilogue planned for this fic, so if you enjoyed it, keep a lookout for that.


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